


counting hours and photographs

by venomedveins



Series: Fire Starter [12]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Almost death, Anger, Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fire Fighters, Hate Sex, Heart to Hearts, Implied Past Germancest, M/M, Post-Break Up, Temper Issues, back story, mild violence, tempers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron and Nasir suffer from their break up in different ways and in some of the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting hours and photographs

**Author's Note:**

> all the love and kudos to crazzzedope for betaing!
> 
> also, thanks to all of you for reading!

Cold air shifts the curtains away from the window, breeze casting red tinged shadows across the bed. Nasir shivers from it, instinctively reaching behind him. The blankets are pulled chin high, but he's still too fucking cold, bare legs curled up close to his chest. Damn November weather. It's due to snow this weekend, a torrential storm that will dump feet on New York City. 

Long fingers curl in the even colder sheets behind him, hands searching out that warm flesh that Nasir has become so familiar with. It's strange that Agron isn't pressed up against him, usually so fucking good at staying close and cuddling with Nasir. The bed is empty on his side, space colder than the breeze, and Nasir groans. It either means that Agron got called in or he can't sleep – both bad signs. 

Wrapping the blankets even tighter around himself, Nasir sits up, scratching dully at his face. His cheeks feel raw, eyes burning. 

“Agron?” Nasir calls out, instantly regretting it. 

All of it, the whole fucking situation, comes flooding back on Nasir, sucking the air right from his lungs. It's like a fucked up reel playing over and over in his mind. Agron's disbelieving look, his eyes filled with tears. His large hands hanging limp at his side after sliding off Nasir's skin. The burning passion that lights Agron up, fuels the fire in his eyes, smothered by Nasir's dismissal. The way he had stumbled from the apartment, usually so graceful and sure of himself, not even bothering to slam the door. It had taken everything in Nasir's power not to run after him, beg him to stay, apologize. 

Tell him-

Tell him what?

Tell him all the times that Nasir didn't say I love you, he meant it anyways? That he did say them, meant them every time they kissed or touched or even drew close together? 

Nasir twists the over sized t-shirt he has on between his fingers, staring down at the faded “Germany” script across the front. Before, wearing Agron's clothes was like putting on armor. He felt protected, loved, held as something precious above everything else. Now though – Now it's just a reminder. A sick little poke in the side reminding Nasir over and over again that this is the closest he's ever going to be to Agron. 

Yanking the shirt up and over his head, Nasir throws it at the closed bedroom door. Even being within his own skin right now feels wrong. He's itchy, fingernails digging into his shoulders as if he can scratch the guilt and shame off of him. 

Stumbling from the bed and towards the kitchen, Nasir doesn't even bother putting on clothes. Pietros is long gone to Barca's house in Jersey, probably not coming back until Sunday, and it's not like anyone is going to come over. Nasir is alone – utterly and ultimately alone. 

He grabs the first bottle of wine he can spot in the fridge. Twisting off the cap and tossing it to the side, Nasir wanders around the apartment, glancing at the random pieces of art on the walls. Taking a deep swig, he drags his fingers along the back of the couch, tracing the pattern of the worn paisley. He lingers for just a second, mind swimming. He can still remember the easy way he fit against Agron's side on this thing, sharing deep, open mouthed kisses and pretending to watch some horrible SyFy channel movie. Nasir would be trying to turn his head, keep an eye on the monster most likely tearing apart some major American city, only to have Agron's lips ghost along his neck, drawing him back with a strong hand on his jaw. 

Nasir doesn't linger for too long - can't do it, gut clenching at the thought of Agron's teeth trailing along his earlobe, seducing him slowly with fingertips trailing along his chest. Nasir takes another chug of the wine, moving back towards the bedroom. He wants it all to go away, the lingering scent of Agron's cologne, the musk of his skin that clings to his sheets, all those t-shirts and sweatpants and beanies all over Nasir's room. He wants to erase everything, and yet, as he sits down on the foot of his bed, he can't imagine this room without Agron's suffocating presence. 

Curling up in the center of the bed, Nasir pulls the covers up and over his waist. He has every intention of finishing the bottle of his wine and falling back asleep, not being really able to deal with the repercussions of his actions, when he's broken from his thought by the thudding vibration of his phone. 

It's a strange feeling – hoping it's Agron and dreading it's Agron. Of course it's not. An unavailable number flashes on the screen, and Nasir, for some reason that escapes him, he answers. 

“Hello?” Nasir's voice is sleep cracked. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Caesar's voice is cool and collected down the line. 

Nasir cringes into another swig of his wine. 

“I take it from your solemn tone that it's been done?” Caesar gloats. “Tell me, did he cry? Did you break the big giant's heart? Or was it more yelling and throwing things type of break up?”

“It's been done. Now leave me alone,” Nasir bites out, fumbling on the night stand for his cigarettes. He's about to hang up when Caesar's laughter fills the phone, forcing him to pause.

“I want the details,” Caesar's smirk is clear in his voice, “Did he fight back? Rough you up a bit? I bet he begged. Did he beg for you not to leave him? Finally found out what type of whore you really are?”

“Shut up,” Nasir hisses, “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Don't be like that,” Caesar simpers, “I'm just checking up on you - my little recovering fiance.”

“I'm not your fucking fiance! I'm not your fucking anything. All you've ever done is ruin things for me, hurt me, destroy any semblance of happiness I had. You took-”Nasir chokes, acid rising in the back of his throat. He feels the burn in his nose, warning signs of more tears. “You took him away.”

“I didn't do anything that wouldn't have happened eventually,” Caesar's tone shifts, biting words around consistent, “You did this to yourself when you thought you could just fucking leave. When you thought I could just let you go and not have any repercussions.”

“And what do want now?” Nasir bites out, gripping his cigarette tighter between his fingers as he wipes at his cheeks, “You've taken everything. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“I don't,” Caesar replies, tone back to ice, “I have what I want, and that is you and him apart. I don't want his sloppy seconds, his cast off slut. I want you to be exactly as you are – alone.”

“What?” Nasir's stomach drops, realizing with a sudden and immobilizing dread that Caesar has played him so fucking well – and Nasir let him. Nasir fell into his trap once again. 

“What? You thought I would just take you back? You're a pretty bitch, but I'm not an idiot. You haven't even learned your lesson yet,” Caesar laughs and it's cruel, “You will though. Over time.”

“Fuck you,” Nasir hisses, miserably. 

“See, no respect,” Caesar sighs, and if Nasir didn't know him, he'd think that Caesar was worn out, “Just remember, no contact or I'll push forward on the case. I want you to really think about it, think about all the trouble you've caused me – and for what? Some beefhead? When you've learned your lesson, and I think you're worthy, then maybe we can talk.”

The click of the phone is deafening, but Nasir's chucking his phone at the wall is louder. 

 

\- - - 

 

“And it was so good. Agron just knocked the whole bottle over. You should have seen Nasir's face. He was so mad,” Duro laughs, mouth stuffed full with mashed potatoes. 

“Chew first, Duro,” Adala scolds her son, shaking her head. Some things never change with her boys. 

“It wouldn't have been so bad had it been the paint water, but it was the wine too. It looked like someone killed an artist all over Agron's floor. Nasir screamed at him for hours. I don't think we'll ever get the stains out,” Duro continues, swallowing with a grimace. 

“And who is Nasir?” Gervas asks, speaking up for the first time all meal. He automatically looks at Agron, but his son doesn't raise his eyes. Instead, Agron stares hard at his barely touched plate, mouth curved in a firm line. An awkward silence falls over the table, Duro sharing a look with his boyfriend. 

“He's uh-” Auctus starts suddenly, “He's my boss. Owns the tattoo shop with Pietros, another one of our friends.”

“It's so nice that you brought so many people into Duro and Agron's lives. Expanding the Brooklyn family,” Adala smiles, patiently ignoring Agron's rough scoff. 

“Yeah he uh,” Auctus scratches at the back of his neck, “He's a real character. Really though, you should hear about some of the guys on Duro's squad. All real gems.”

“Oh god,” Duro moans, rolling his eyes, “Some of them are great but some of them-”

“Is my bag still hanging in the barn?” Agron interrupts, raising his eyes to his mother. 

“I think so, dear. I doubt anyone could lift that thing,” She laughs but it sounds false, ringing out among the silent dining room.

Agron nods and stands, leaving his full plate on the table. Duro makes a noise of protest, but Auctus places his hand firmly on his thigh, shaking his head. It's become a common gesture over the long drive. Agron moves towards the door when Adala calls out after him. 

“Agron, sweetheart, you've barely eaten. Don't you want to get something in your stomach after that long drive? I can make you something else if you don't like this.”

“Not hungry.”

Agron lets the front slam on his way out, screen door snapping against the wood. Adala spreads her hands along the table cloth, nervously worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It's a habit that Duro himself has picked up, mimicking her. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Gervas grunts, pulling his beer bottle closer to him to take a long pull. 

“He just isn't feeling well,” Duro shrugs, taking another bite of food. “Long drive and all.”

“So he's going to go out there and hit that damn old punching bag?” Gervas shakes his head, “Never can understand that boy. Looks like a man and acts like a bitch.”

“Gervas!” Adala gasps, shaking her head.

“What? When was the last time we fucking saw him – Last Christmas?” Gervas snarls, “and then he comes back, only to hole himself up in that fucking barn. I don't even see the fucking point in him coming up if he's just going to ignore us the whole time.”

“Dad!” Duro snaps, using Auctus' hand curled around his knee for support, “He's just going through a lot right now.”

“Of course he is. He always is going through some shit right now, chasing after some tail or having one of his 'break downs',” Gervas takes another drag of his beer, rolling his eyes. “You know, I'm getting really fucking tired of this. If you're both not going to give me grandchildren, the least you can do is not act like a couple of fags.”

Duro's face pulls back as if he's been slapped, staring at his father. It's like he doesn't even know the man as Adala abruptly stands, putting her plate loudly on top of Agron's untouched one. She doesn't even have the words to say, instead, moving towards the kitchen door. 

“I think this meal is over. Auctus, why don't you come help an old woman with the dishes? I'd love to hear more about the tattoo world,” Adala doesn't turn, expecting that Auctus will agree, “Duro, go out and talk to your brother.”

The room scatters, chairs dragging on the hard wood floor and plates clinking together as Auctus helps clear the table. Gervas doesn't once more or say anything else, still taking drinks of his beer like he hasn't done anything wrong. Duro can barely see through his anger, narrowing his eyes as he slams out the door and runs the hundred yards to the barn. 

He can hear the rhythmic thuds of Agron's fists connecting to the leather, peeking around the corner of the door to see. He's set up in the back, illuminated by a gas lamp swinging from the rafters. Already, sweat is pooling along Agron's shoulders, sliding down between his pecs, getting lost in the tops of his jeans. Agron snarls as his unprotected knuckles creak, skin threatening to break. 

Duro feels a sudden familiar twist in his gut, watching the easy way Agron commands his powerful body, keeping pace as he swings over and over. He knows Agron is attractive, has always known, but times like this – watching his barely contained rage, the fury, the all consuming fever that is Agron – Duro gets a darker itch – something he hasn't had in years. 

“Come in, Duro,” Agron bites out through clenched teeth, “I know you're here.”

“Sorry. Mom sent me out to check on you,” Duro shuffles inside, lowering his head a little but not letting his eyes stray from the sharp dimples in Agron's back. 

“You didn't come for the free show?” Agron snarks, looking over his shoulder at Duro. “You used to love it out here with me.”

“Agron, come on,” Duro starts, wanting to find out what's wrong and not reminisce. 

“It's okay, little brother. I haven't even told Na-” Agron chokes a little, wiping at his forehead with his wrist, “No one knows.”

“Good, I mean, um,” Duro shifts, “I don't know how well it would go over.”

“Oh I think he would love the thought,” Agron shrugs, turning fully to face Duro. Duro gets a sick little twist in his stomach, watching the cocky way Agron stares at him but refuses to say Nasir's name. 

“I didn't-” Duro flounders, unable to get the worst past his tongue. 

“Didn't tell Auctus? Well, I imagine he'd be a little upset.” Agron's smirk is lewd, verging on cruel along the eyes.

“Agron, stop.” Duro hisses, stepping closer while looking around – afraid that Auctus is going to appear out of no where, “Look, Mom sent me out here to check on you. Dad too.” 

“You were never a good liar,” Agron grins, turning back around to begin his punches again. “Let me guess, wants to know why I'm being such a bitch? Still mad that I haven't got my dick wet in some chick and popped out a kid? Still blaming me for turning you gay?”

“He just doesn't understand,” Duro sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“I think he understands a little too much.”

Agron turns back, wiping the side of his hand along his jaw. His skin gleams in the lamp light, glowing gold and bronze. Slowly, Agron slides his eyes up Duro's body, smirking when Duro blinks quickly, trying to unpin himself from Agron's intense gaze – liquid green inferno burning up all the oxygen between them. 

He doesn't just walk closer, but stalks like a lion aiming to kill. Duro doesn't stand a chance, smothering heat trickling down his spine to his stomach, twisting all of Duro's inhibitions. Agron doesn't reach out to touch when he's drawn close though, hot breath ghosting right across Duro's trembling lips. Instead, he lingers, letting Duro take the first move, unconsciously leaning forward. 

“You still think about that summer?” Agron murmurs, voice so low Duro barely can hear it over the buzzing in his ears, “The way Brooklyn seemed to be melting all around us. You in those stupid Salvation Army shorts.” 

“Yeah,” Duro nods, confessing in whispers. He does think about it, sometimes a little too much.

“Too bad you have a fucking boyfriend,” Agron smirks, leaning forward to press his mouth to the corner of Duro's before turning back around. His first punch against the bag shocks Duro out of his paralysis, changing the scalding lust to fury in seconds. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” With eyebrows furrowed, Duro shoves a hand into Agron's shoulder. 

“Nothing.” Agron shrugs it off, punches speeding up. 

Duro regrets the next words as soon as he says them, “Is this about Nasir? Did you...Did you catch him with someone? I mean, if he'll cheat with you, he might-”

When Agron turns, he comes swinging, and Duro barely manages (thank fuck for all the training at the academy) to get out of the way of the fist. Instead, Agron's knuckles collide with the wooden beam behind Duro's head, knuckles instantly busting. Blood sprays across the barn floor, staining the hay a sickly red. 

“I don't know what's going and you've been furious since you got in the truck and Nasir isn't here and he's usually the one that calms you down. I don't fucking know what to do,” Duro rambles, hands raised to touch Agron but afraid to, “I don't know what to fucking do and I've called Nasir and he won't fucking answer. You need to tell me what to do, Agron.”

“There is nothing you can do,” Agron says, surprisingly soft as he inspects his busted hand, “He's gone.”

“Agron,” Duro presses a tentative hand to Agron's shoulder only to have it shoved off. 

“He dumped me.” Agron grits out, and though Duro knows he's trying to sound pissed, there is a tinge at the back of Agron's throat that hints at something more. 

“Why?” Duro asks, lingering in the darkness behind Agron. It's a while before Agron's response comes.

“He doesn't love me.” 

Raising his head, Agron stares up at the flicking gaslight. The whole scene replaying over and over in his mind, just like it has been since he walked out of the apartment. Had he seen tears in Nasir's eyes or was that just wishful thinking? Why couldn't Nasir look at him? The whole apartment had smelt like cigarettes and their skin. 

“That's ridiculous. Of course he loves you,” Duro shakes his head, “Everyone can see it.”

“He's never said it. Can't say it. Won't,” Agron hates this pathetic feeling creeping in his chest, “It's too much for him.”

“Agron,” Duro sighs, trying to inch closer, “Just because he never said it doesn't mean he didn't feel it. Nasir's whole world revolves around you. You two have been inseparable from the moment you met. Even when he was getting the shit beat out of him, he still ran to you – knowing the types of things Caesar would do to him if he found out.”

Agron licks the blood off his busted middle knuckle, suckling on the skin a little to wipe away the red. He wishes what Duro is saying wasn't true. Of course Agron has gone all over this. It's been his running mantra for two months now, ever since he choked out the first “i love you”. Nasir didn't have to say it if he just showed it, and he had. All the times Agron would come back to his apartment, smelling of smoke, and Nasir would be there already waiting for him, handing him a cool glass of whiskey and kissing Agron slow and sweet. The easy way he could drap himself over the back of the couch, letting his arms hand down Agron's front while he presses sincere and soft kisses in Agron's hair, letting Agron rant about the horrors of the job – watching people's lives go up in smoke. 

Hidden on his phone, Agron has hundreds of pictures of them together – some clothed, most not. Pictures of Nasir's glowing skin illuminated just by the street lamps outside, transcendent, with his lips wrapped around Agron's cock. Legs spreads around Agron's waist, and he has snap shots of himself inside Nasir's always warm and tight little hole. The sweat glistening on Nasir's forehead and chest, trickling down as Agron fucks into him. Nasir and his eager eyes, half hidden as he spreads his legs for the camera, beckoning. Agron cherishes them, watches the videos to hear Nasir's laugh turn to short, choked moans, the easy way his skin parts to allow Agron access. 

There are other photos too. Nasir curled up on Agron's bed, dwarfed by one of Agron's large shirts, just a peek of his ass sticking out. Sweet snapshots of Agron's lips against Nasir's smiling face, kissing his cheek and jaw. Nasir arched into a scorpion pose on his yoga mat, shining against the morning sun. Half blurred in another as he laughs at Agron, hands thrown up by his face. The stupid video that Nasir sent him of himself saying “Daddy” and then biting his bottom lip, innocent seduction that gets Agron every fucking time. Agron's favorite photo of Nasir curled up on his windowsill, balancing a cup of coffee and a cigarette on his knees. 

How could he just throw it all away then? How can the man who insisted on curling up by Agron every chance he got for three days because Agron lost someone in a fire and was broken up about it, how could he just walk away? Push Agron out of his life?

“He doesn't,” Agron whispers, shaking his head slowly, “He was taught by the best how to lie.”

“Nasir is a terrible liar. You remember the time he tried to convince Mira and Spartacus that the random stain on their chair was frosting and not come?” Duro shakes his head, not willing to believe this, “Mira couldn't stop teasing him about it for a week. Even after you two got it cleaned.”

“He ran from Caesar but he always ran back too,” Agron grits out, curling his hands into fists, feeling the skin burn. “Nasir doesn't want to love anybody. He just wants to be loved, to be taken cared of. I did that for a time and now it's over.”

“Agron, you can't believe that.” Duro moves to stand before his brother, needing to see his face, “Grandma told me about the ring. She said you came up two months ago for it. You wouldn't have asked for it if you didn't know Nasir loved you.”

“And I will give it back.” Agron shrugs, still not looking up. 

“You're the oldest cousin. You're the first born. That ring is supposed to go to you and you are supposed to give it to Nasir. That's how this is going to work,” Duro grits his teeth, “You know it belongs to him, just like you belong to him and he belongs to you.”

“I don't!” Agron suddenly shouts, glare piercing Duro's eyes as he shoves him hard, “You fucking take it. You and your stupid fucking boyfriend. You had to go to that stupid club, didn't you? This is all your fucking fault, Duro. I wish I had never met him. I wish Nasir had never even looked at me.”

He doesn't wait to hear Duro's reply, turning abruptly and heading out of the barn, t-shirt left on the ground. Maybe, Agron wonders, if he keeps running – if he never turns back around – he'll never have to face it – to know how much this is fucking killing him. 

 

\- - - 

 

Mira smiles lovingly at Spartacus as she places the finishing touches on her apple pie. The lattice work is immaculate, criss crossing delicate over the fresh apples and cinnamon. She's put the extra effort into each of the dishes, and even though they are only having Melitta, Oenomaus, Naevia, and Crixus over – Mira is extremely proud of her work. 

“You've outdone yourself,” Spartacus gently lays his hand on Mira's forearm, leaning up to kiss her cheek. 

“It's Thanksgiving. If the food isn't beautiful, then no one will eat it.” Mira wipes her hands quickly on her apron, placing the pie onto 

“You are beautiful,” Spartacus says, taking a slow drink of the iced tea before him. 

“Thank you.” Mira's smile crinkles the freckles on her cheeks, “Are you hungry? I can make us up some sandwiches and pasta salad.”

“I'll make it. You've been cooking all day. Why don't you sit and relax a bit?” Spartacus stands, placing another firm kiss on Mira's temple before heading towards the kitchen. 

Mira sits generally, untying the apron and placing it on the table. She takes up Spartacus' now abandoned cup of tea, taking a long drink of it. She knows she shouldn't put so much effort into this holiday, it's just a big dinner after all, but Mira has found her family here. Really, only Agron and Duro are related by blood and that's a strange thing in itself. Their ragtag family is strange, a little dysfunctional at times, but it works. 

“Hey babe?” Spartacus calls from the kitchen, “Do you want tomatoes on your sandwich or are we saving them for something?”

“Save two for the salad tomorrow,” Mira answers, suddenly feeling the vibration of Spartacus' iPone ringing beside her. 

She's not the type to snoop, but picks it up to see if it's necessary. She wants to avoid, if she can, Spartacus getting called into work. 

“Duro is calling you,” Mira moves to stand in the kitchen doorway, holding it up. 

“Will you answer it?” Spartacus holds up the knife, pointing at the tomatoes. 

Mira presses the phone to her ear, and at first, all she can hear is heavy breathing. Automatically, she goes for the worst – clearly Duro butt dialed Spartacus during sex. That's what it sounds like, until a broken voice fills the speaker. 

“Hello? Spartacus?”

“Duro, it's Mira. What's wrong?” Panic fills her gut at his tone. 

“I need to talk to Spartacus. Something...” She hears Auctus' soothing tones in the background, “Something is wrong.”

“Okay, sweetie. Give me a second.”

Mira pulls the phone away from her ear, and Spartacus is already there to take it. They switch places, but Spartacus doesn't go very far, keeping his eye on his fiance. 

“Duro, hey man. How is Maine?” Spartacus asks, leaning heavily on the doorframe. 

“It's horrible. Spartacus, I don't know what to do. I know you're busy but I just-” Duro rambles, breathing short and fast. “I just don't know who else to turn to.”

“Duro, it's okay. You can always call me. You're family,” Spartacus placates, “Tell me what's going on.”

“Agron and Nasir-” Duro cuts off, whispering sharply to Auctus behind the phone. “You don't understand, Auctus. This isn't okay. You don't understand. He's out there and you don't know. It was bad before but now it's only going to get worse.”

“Duro, tell me what's going on.” Spartacus tries to talk about the arguing couple. 

“Agron and Nasir broke up.” Duro finally spits it out, and it's odd really, the way that Spartacus' stomach drops. 

“What?” Mira mouths, staring at Spartacus' contorted face. 

He waves her off, “What do you mean they broke up?”

“Who broke up?” Mira tries again, and Spartacus waves his hand above his head a little and then about chest high and Mira's jaw drops. 

“Agron and Nasir broke up?” She asks and Spartacus has to turn away from her questioning gaze to listen to Duro. 

“All I can get out of Agron is that Nasir dumped him,” Duro sighs, “He didn't even speak on the drive up here, but I found out he asked Grandma for the ring and now he's going to give it back. I had to force it out of him and-”

Duro cuts off again, breath panting into the receiver so it turns to static. All Spartacus can make out is Auctus repeatedly telling Duro to calm down. Finally, after a few moments, Auctus' voice replaces Duro's on the line. 

“Look, Spartacus, it's not good, alright? Duro is all worked up about Agron and some stupid punching bag,” Auctus sighs, “Nasir can't be reached. I think it's gonna be a rough break up, but it's not something we need to concern ourselves with. They're adults and have to work out their problems.” 

“Punching bag?” Spartacus startles, looking up at Mira. She sets the kitchen knife down slowly, leaning her hip on the counter. 

“I don't know what's the big deal, so he's working out? I get that breakups suck, but he really is acting like a child,” Auctus pulls away to shush Duro again, softly telling him to get ready for bed. 

“Look, put Duro back on the line, alright?” Spartacus' hard tone is nothing for disagreement. 

Auctus sighs, grumbling something, but he hands the phone over to Duro's trembling hands. 

“Duro?” Spartacus asks, and the other man gives a weak sound of recognition. 

“It's not going to be like the last time, alright? I'm not going to let Agron get to that point. I promised him and I promised you that once he was done with the fighting, I would keep him out of it.” Spartacus swears, “I need you to do a few things for me, okay?”

“What do I do?” Duro asks, beginning to sound a little better – reassured. 

“Three things. One, keep your brother away from alcohol. If he wants a beer, give him a beer, but no whiskey, alright? We all know how Agron gets when he's upset and drunk. Second, and this is the most fucking important part,” Spartacus pulls the phone a little closer to his mouth, “Do not let him talk to your father. Distract him as best you can. You know Gervas is just going to upset him, and the last thing we need is Agron driving back to Brooklyn in the middle of the night, okay?”

“I'll do my best,” Duro promises, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “What about Nasir? I can't see him doing this and being fine. He must be a little upset, right? Don't you think he loves Agron?”

“I think Nasir loves Agron a little too much, to be honest.” Spartacus accepts Mira's soft hand on his shoulder, moving around him to set their food on the table. 

“So why would he do this? What reason does he have?” Duro asks bitterly, “He has no idea how much this has fucked Agron up. Agron never chases people, he's never cared enough to go out of his way to. But with Nasir...”

“I don't know, Duro. Why do people do the things they do? I'll send Mira and Naevia over later today to make sure he's alright,” Spartacus sighs, “It's late, man. Let Auctus take you to bed, get some sleep, and I'll call you on Friday.”

“Alright, goodnight.” Duro is just about to hang up when Spartacus' shout stops him. 

“Duro! Don't let Saxa call Nasir either. Better yet, don't even tell Saxa.”

“Okay, I'll try. She's going to know something is up though,” Duro sighs, “She was already kinda on to it on the drive over when Agron didn't call her every twenty minutes to tell her to slow down.”

“Just try, alright? I'll call you Friday.” 

“Ok.”

Duro presses his thumb to screen and slowly lowers his hand to his lap. Sitting next to him, bare chest a warm comfort against his shoulder, Auctus gently takes the iPhone from his grasp, setting it on the night stand. They're stuck sharing Agron's old full size bed, way too small to fit both of them, but Agron had just wordless taken Duro's old twin, no longer needing the extra mattress for Nasir. Honestly though, with the way they slept, Duro is pretty sure Nasir would have just curled up on top of Agron in the twin anyways. 

Leaning against Auctus' side heavily, Duro rests his head against his boyfriend, gratefully accepting Auctus' thick arm around his waist. They sit there in silence for a few minutes, Auctus' fingers tracing up and down Duro's thigh. 

“I know you are worried about him, babe, but he's a big man. It hurts now but it eventually goes away,” Auctus murmurs, “It happened to me, and then I found you. Look how much better I am off for it.”

“Yeah, but you're my Nasir. And Agron,” Duro sighs, turning to look at Auctus, “Agron was in a rough spot when we first moved from here. He got in a lot of fights. He was working as a cage fighter when Spartacus met us.”

“That's not surprising. Your brother isn't exactly a slight figure,” Auctus gently traces Duro's chin with his fingertips. 

“Even after Spartacus recruited him for the FDNY, he was always so bitter. Nothing made him happy, really happy, not just content,” Duro leans into the touch, “And then I graduated the police academy and he met Nasir. Even though he was still with Caesar, Agron just completely changed. He was happy, eager, ya know? They came up with their own code to text each other. Agron was always blowing people off to go pick up Nasir, drive around with him, it was bad but it was good – ya know?”

“Babe, I know they seemed perfect. Trust me, I had to hear all about Agron at work. Nasir never shut up about him. Basically was surrounded by floating hearts,” Auctus frowns, “But things like this, they don't last. Nasir, for as long as i've known him, has always been too tentative. He doesn't take risks. He just aims to please people.”

“I just don't like feeling helpless. I love Nasir, like he's another brother, and I love Agron because he is my brother. How am I supposed to be supportive without hating Nasir for doing this?” Duro scratches at his nose, playing with his nose ring – a nervous twitch. 

“We just stay out of it,” Auctus shrugs, “We are supportive. We let them cry it out, drink it out, hell, I'll even take Agron cruising for a new little twink if he wants. But we stay out of it. I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire and end up hurt.”

“When did you get so smart?” Duro smiles, presses a soft kiss to Auctus' jaw. 

“It happens,” Auctus shrugs, “I know how Agron feels right now – having someone just dump you out of the blue – but I found something more – someone better, and I'm not letting him go for anything.”

“I love you,” Duro confesses softly, entangling their hands in Duro's lap. 

“I love you too, Duro. I really do.” Auctus seals it with a firm kiss, and hand pressed to Duro's chest to guide him back against the covers. 

They kiss slow and languid against the pillows, Auctus caressing up and down Duro's sides. Duro traces the wing tattoos along Auctus' shoulder blades, from the black bow of them to the very tips, blindly memorizing them all over again. He loves the thick cut of Auctus, the heavy weight of him over Duro, holding him against the blankets. 

“Make love to me,” Duro whispers in a gasp, pulling back from Auctus' mouth. 

“Okay,” Auctus agrees with a soft smile, pressing his mouth back down. 

 

\- - - 

 

“How the hell did you get a key to Nasir's apartment?” Naevia whispers as Mira places it in the lock, fiddling with it for a moment. She hates Nasir's door. The lock is always sticking and she has no idea how Agron can get this open when usually they're attached at the mouth when they stumble through he door. Or, they used to be. 

“Nasir gave it to me after the fire escape incident,” Mira shrugs, grinning at Naevia's confused expression. 

“They were fucking on the fire escape and the window fell. Got stuck from all the rain we've been having. Agron had to run down four floors and past eight windows completely naked. He wouldn't let Nasir go in case someone saw him,” Mira giggles, finally pushing the door open, “And then he had to pick Nasir's lock with a bobby pin he found on the floor because Nasir didn't want his landlord to be mad if Agron broke the door in.”

“How is it that they have been together the shortest out of all of us and yet have the best sex stories?” Naevia asks, following Mira into the apartment and flipping on the hall light. 

“That beats me and Spartacus' getting a ticket story by a mile,” Mira laughs, but it diminishes the moment she takes in the state of the apartment. 

The apartment usually is spotless, or as spotless as two very busy, working men in their twenties can be. When she thinks about Nasir and Pietros, she always imagines their apartment to smell distinctly of cinnamon and sandlewood, with lots of pillows and tapestries on the walls. This is not what she expected. The couch's pillows are all thrown randomly around the living room. A cork lays abandoned in the hallway, an empty bottle of wine nearby. The fridge is open half an inch too, blowing cold air in the silent kitchen. 

“Habibi?” Naevia calls out, heading directly towards Nasir's tightly closed bedroom door. 

“Naevia, maybe he isn't here?” Mira asks, pushing the fridge shut with her foot as she deposits the wine bottles (she found another on the kitchen floor) into the recycling. 

“Nasir?” Naevia slow pushes the door open, sighing heavily. 

Nasir is curled up in the center of the bed, large sketch pad open with charcoal smeared across in large sweeping lines. It's not even a figure, just looks like an angry smudge in the center of his sheets. He's wearing just a t-shirt, black smeared up his fingers and onto the green Germany print – she knows it's Agrons from the way it hangs like a short dress on him. His mouth is stained red, and at first, Naevia thinks he's bleeding at first, chewed on his skin til it split, but then the strong vapor of Merlot hits her and Naevia cringes. 

“Hey,” Naevia sighs, feeling Mira come to stand beside her, “What are you doing, habibi?” 

“Go away,” Nasir murmurs, staring out at his window, glaring into the dark sky. 

“Nasir,” Mira moves forward, coming to sit beside him, “You know we can't do that. You can't do this to yourself. Let us help you.”

“I don't want help. I want to be left alone,” Nasir whispers, closing his eyes, “You shouldn't be here.”

“Like hell we shouldn't, “ Naevia rubs are her stomach, feeling the baby stir with her agitation, “We're your friends too.”

“You shouldn't be. All I do is hurt people,” Nasir reply is muffled as he turns his face into the pillow. 

“That's not true and you know it,” Mira sighs, combing her fingers through Nasir's greasy hair, trying not to grimace around the tangles. 

“I've ruined everything and I can't even fix it.” Nasir shudders. “Just go away. I don't want to see anyone. I'm not worth it.”

“Shut up. I know you are feeling sorry for yourself and you're in a lot of pain right now, but you can't push us away. Nasir, we are your friends – your family.” Naevia yanks the sketch pad from the bed and lightly puts it on the chair in the corner. 

“Come on,” Mira grips Nasir's arm in a firm but tight grip, “You need to shower and then get some food in you. You smell like a French brothel.”

“I'll make him something,” Naevia nods, heading towards the kitchen. 

Nasir whines in protest when Mira pulls him into a sitting position, gently flattening down his hair. 

“Nasir, sweetheart, I know you are upset and this whole thing is a mess, but you need to take care of yourself.” Mira holds Nasir's jaw firm, trying to catch his gaze. “This isn't the end of the world.”

“It feels like it.”

A thick tear trails slowly down Nasir's cheek. 

“I know sweetie, I know. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

Nasir lets Mira drag him into the bathroom, but refuses to take a bath, instantly bursting into tears when Mira swears it will make him feel better. Instead, he stands docile in the shower for some time, staring down at the cracked tile. Agron's razor is still in the medicine cabinet. His shoes are behind Nasir's bedroom door. His stupidly contagious laughter echoing in Nasir's head, slowly being swallowed by the broken way Agron said Nasir's name that last time. Nasir doesn't want to feel anything, anymore. 

When he finally gets out, he pulls on a pair of harem pants and has to force himself to ignore the pile of Agron's t-shirts in the drawer. He promises himself that he'll put one on after the girls leave. It's okay if he feels like he's dying, as long as no one sees it. 

 

\- - - 

 

November shifts into December in a thick, frosting of snow and endless rain. It turns to dirty gray slush on the sidewalks and gutters of New York City, but it doesn't slow time down. The Rockefeller tree goes up. Macy's windows are decorated to the nines. Santas ring bells on every corner while shoppers and tourists walk past. All across the big Apple people begin to feel the warmth and glow of the holidays, and yet, Agron can't seem to be bothered. 

He prides himself on not contacting Nasir, though every fiber within him screams every time he catches sight of someone with long black hair peeking out of a beanie. He doesn't call. He doesn't text. He drives by but then doesn't allow himself to look up. What he does instead is watch the videos, look through the pictures, dissect every moment that they were together to see if there was some clue that Agron had over looked because he was pretty fucking sure that Nasir was the one for him, but now he's gone and Agron can't even sleep without thinking of Nasir's eyes in that stupid bathtub the last time.

Agron should have known. He should have fucking known. The way that Nasir had clung to him that night; he was so fucking tense. He had kissed Agron hard over and over again, nails digging in, like he wanted to crawl inside Agron's skin. He had gasped against Agron's ear when he came, not shouted or begged, but almost like a sob – like something was being taken from him. 

Then again, when Agron had carried him to the bed and they had pressed tightly to each other, Nasir stroking Agron's face. He had barely been able to keep eye contact when Agron had lifted his thigh and slid back in, mouth falling open in soft, begging mews. He had mouthed something against Agron's jaw, words that Agron couldn't focus on. He had chalked it up to Nasir feeling insecure or something, it happens with him sometimes, needing Agron to reassure him that he's beautiful and wonderful and deserves happiness. 

Had Agron done a good job? Is that why it was so easy for Nasir to just shove him away and move on?

He doesn't know. He guesses. 

Mira keeps telling him that Nasir is a wreck, is drinking all the time, barely eating, refusing company. It's been two weeks and he still hasn't come by to get his stuff. Yet, somehow, it just makes Agron more mad. Nasir has no right to be upset if he's the one who made the choice for them to be over. He can't act heartbroken when he broke it himself. 

“Hey big brother,” Duro claps Agron roughly on the shoulder, making his way towards the fridge. He's still in uniform, but he tosses his hat on the table and gun belt. 

“Hey,” Agron pops another chip in his mouth, roughly picking up his sandwich. 

“You heading to work soon?” Duro asks, pulling out the fixings for a sandwich himself. 

“Yeah, why?” Agron asks gruffly around a mouth full of turkey and swiss. 

“Auctus is coming over. We're having a stay in date night, take out and Netflix. I wanted to know if you maybe wanted to chill with us a little,” Duro replies, slathering mayo on a piece of wheat bread. 

“No, I'd rather not be the third wheel in your fuck wagon,” Agron rolls his eyes, taking another bite, “I'll be gone before he gets here.”

“Don't be like that,” Duro sighs, coming to rest a hand on Agron's shoulder, nuzzling into his hair. “I like hanging out with both of you.”

“Don't be like what?” Agron pulls away. “I just don't want to watch you throw yourself all over him. It's pretty pathetic. You're worth more than that. He get off that sorry excuse for a job at four, right?” 

“Same time as Nasir,” Duro nods, scowling a little. “You should know that. You insisted on picking him up most days.”

“Don't.” Agron hisses, standing up with a loud scrap of his chair. 

“Don't what?” Duro sits down at the table, cutting his sandwich in half. 

“Don't just say his name like that.” He moves towards his room, returning right after with his shoes. “You make it sound-”

“Like what? Like his name? You're going to have to say it eventually, you said it enough when he was around,” Duro grumbles, taking a bite and slurping up a tomato. 

“Duro, just shut the fuck up.”

“I won't shut up. You can't expect everyone to just tip toe around your big break up drama. We get it, alright, it sucks, but stop taking it out on everyone and stop acting like Nasir wasn't the best thing to happen to you in a long time.”

“You,” Agron grips Duro's chin tightly, seeming to tower over his younger brother, “don't get to talk about him like that. I don't want to hear that we were happy or in love. It's over and I want to erase that little slut from my memory, got it?”

Agron goes into the hall for his jacket, having to double back for his keys. 

“And just for the record, he wasn't the best thing to ever happen to me. If he was, he'd still be here.”

Agron slams the front door, ending the conversation. 

 

\- - - 

 

Smoke billows high above the apartment building, choking out the brisk December sky. It fills the streets, onlookers coughing as they watch from behind yellow caution tape. It's been a long time since the city has seen such an intense fire, especially in Brookyn. 

Spartacus adjusts the strap holding his helmet in place, stepping out of the fire truck. His whole crew is here, even those on call. It's not going to be a short and easy fix. 

"What's the status?" He barks at Crixus.

"Fifty residents, half at work. Gannicus is working on doing a headcount of those who made it outside." Crixus replies. Behind him, Saxa, Lugo, and Nemetes work on unraveling the hose from the back of the truck. 

"Spartacus!" Agron jogs around the side of the second truck, quickly buttoning up his jacket. "We have a woman who claims her son is still inside. Sixth floor, back left apartment."

"Take Castus and Donar. Go quickly. We don't have much time," Spartacus gives his orders, watching as Agron nods, calling out to the other two fighters. 

Agron can feel the heat the moment he steps into the building, leading both Donar and Castus towards the staircase. Old apartment buildings, especially in Brooklyn, never are up to building codes, and it's not always easy to predict when a key support beam is going to come crashing down on their heads. He has been in the business though long enough to know they don't have much time.

They've just made it to the fifth floor landing when a scream breaks out over the roar of the fire, followed by weak sobs. Agron holds up a closed fist, halting all of them. 

"Hey Chief. We've got a possible resident on the fifth floor, right of the staircase. I'm going to send Donar over to retrieve them. Castus and I will go on up to the sixth." Agron speaks into his headset, motioning for Donar to go ahead as he climbs up the next few steps. 

"Roger that. We are almost ready out here with the hoses so let's make this a quick grab and go job." Spartacus' reply comes over the headphone, slightly staticy from the distance. 

"Got it. No making hotdogs." 

Agron carefully picks his way up the steps, listening for any signs of life or movements. After eight years on the force, Agron has learned the signs to look for, the tell tale things that indicate a hiding child or an injured old lady.

Heading left down the hallway, Agron check at each door for sound or movement. It's not uncommon for someone to live alone and go uncounted for. Reaching the last apartment, it's clear even through the door that someone is trapped there. Fire licks along the hallway ceiling, swelling the wood and the screaming only intensifies. 

"Fuck," Castus curses behind Agron, kicking at the door.

"What?" Agron turns his attention from watching the ceiling to the other man. 

"The axe is down on the truck," Castus confesses, grimacing. It was his job to grab it. 

"Move," Agron commands, shoving Castus to the side as he rams his shoulder into the front door. 

It cracks in half, falling away from the hinges as if it were made of cardboard and not solid wood. Agron doesn't even have time to throw back a cocky grin, because the next moment a piece of the connecting wall splinters under the increasing heat of the fire, showers of sparks and wood chips falling down on their heads. 

"Spread out. We need to find this guy now!" Agron commands, pushing through the apartment and automatically heading for the bedrooms. 

Castus follows his lead, searching through the kitchen and living room. They're taking too long. The building groans around them, wood and cement cracking under so much pressure and heat. Windows burst, glass melting in the heat. 

"I've got him!" Agron shouts. He's knelt in front of the kitchen sink, pulling a wailing seven year old from among the cleaning supplies. It makes him sick, the way people will save themselves but forget their children.

He hoists the child up with one arm, finding his way back through the burning living room, finding Castus before the doorway, covered in soot and ash. Agron can barely make out his face. 

"Come on. We've gotta get out of here!"

Both men hurry through the front door and down the main hallway to the chorus of pops and groans from the wood around them. Spartacus is barking orders in both of their ears to hurry, saying that the building could go under any moment. It's no surprise that Agron never hears the loud, echoing snap of the staircase. He just feels it as it collapses down on his back, sending him sprawling on his stomach. 

Castus turns after jumping out of the way, calling out Agron's name. The wood crushes into Agron's back and shoulders, pinning him in a way that he can't get his feet under him, barely being able to lift up and push the toddler from under his bulk.

"Take him and go." Agron shoves the now screaming child up and into Castus' numb arms. 

He doesn't say anything, just lifts the child higher and glances at Agron. There is nothing that Castus can do, nothing really. He's not going to be strong enough to lift the wood and save the child. 

"Go!" Agron shouts again, laying back down the moment Castus disappears from sight. 

He doesn't want to die like this. He doesn't want to go down as the fire figther who laid back and let himself be pinned, but the more he struggles, the heavier the bulk seems to be, and Agron realizes that the fall has knocked his oxygen tank to the side, smoke and debris now infesting his lungs. 

"Spartacus?" Agron coughs into his headset, trying to twist on his side. 

"Agron?! Where are you?" Spartacus' voice is panicked over the line. 

"I'm stuck," Agron groans, managing to get part of his back free, "I'm stuck, Chief, and it's not looking good."

"Hold on. I'm coming." Spartacus' reply is clipped, half drenched in the wailing of people behind him. 

"Spartacus the building is going to collapse," Agron warns, tears threatening his eyes - half smoke and half emotion. “You've got to turn on the hoses. It's okay, Chief.”

"If you think I'm fucking leaving you, you're wrong. I'm coming for you, Agron. Just hold on." 

Agron can see the fire now sliding down one whole wall of the staircase. It's too hot, suffocating him and squeezing his lungs. Agron has been scared before, caught in situations that he thought he wasn't going to get out of, but this is something entirely different. He can't feel his shoulders, numb from the heavy wood crushing his ash filled lungs. His face feels like it's melting, burning from the waves of the inferno.

"Spartacus," Agron is close to hyperventilating, "take care of him, yeah?"

“Agron, we're coming. Hold on. The door is blocked.” Spartacus' reply is clipped, breathing heavy. 

“You've got to promise me,” Agron wheezes, “Promise me you'll make sure he's alright, he's happy. He's everything to me. He should know it.”

“I promise, alright, now hold on, we're coming.” 

Agron can feel more weight being added to the beam against him, crushing his chest enough that he feels his rib snap, pain ripping up his side. Breath coming in short little gasps, and Agron swears he can see Nasir's face through the fire, hair whipping around him from the smoke. It stings to look but Agron can't move his eyes away, watching almost seamlessly as Nasir steps through the blaze right in front of Agron's face. 

“Nasir? Baby what are you doing?”

Agron isn't even sure his lips are moving, but it doesn't matter. Nasir brushes his fingers over Agron's helmet, touching the visor with a small, sad smile. He doesn't speak, in fact, Agron isn't even sure he can – but it's a relief. To see him one more time, know he is here. 

Sitting down on the rotting wood, Nasir laces his fingers through Agron's gloved ones, raising his hand to kiss across Agron's knuckles – such a familiar action. Agron tries to curl his hand around Nasir's jaw, lead him down for a kiss, but he can barely rattle in a breath to whisper. 

“I'm glad you're here with me, at the end. I'm glad it was you.”

"Agron!" 

Spartacus cuts through the vision with a roar, suddenly appearing before the injured man like some sort of heavenly deity. He's followed closely by Crixus and Donar, both carrying axes. Agron would be able to tell them apart if his vision wasn't blurring, lungs squeezing tight. 

Agron doesn't know how they do it. It's part miracle and part pure determination when the three men lift the wall off of Agron's back and pull him out from under it. They must have half carried and half dragged Agron through the building too, because the next thing Agron is coherent for, he's sitting in a hospital room with an oxygen mask tucked over his nose and mouth. Blinking against the lights, it takes Agron a moment to realize that it's just the two of them.

"Hey," Spartacus sits up in the chair next to the bed, still wearing his full fighter gear, "How is my co-assistant chief?"

Agron shrugs helplessly, throat burning. 

"You took a pretty hard fall there, Agron. I'm not going to lie, we were all pretty worried," Spartacus' brow furrows, crossing his arms over his chest, "You passed out from air loss. Docs rushed you over to emergency. You've only been out about two hours." 

"Did the child make it?" Agron croaks as he lifts the oxygen mask, regretting it when his lungs give a painful squeeze. 

"Yeah. Was already treated for some minor cuts and bruises. His mother told me to thank you," Spartacus pats Agron's arm, "I'm-We're all very proud of you."

"Yeah?" Agron tries to give a playful smirk but it turns into a grimace as he moves. 

"Yeah," Spartacus nods, gently patting Agron's arm, "Though you might get some slack for having your dying wish be that I take care of Nasir for you."

"I meant Duro. Take care of Duro." Agron presses the mask back to his mouth to hide his grimace. 

"It's okay, Agron. You know I would though, right?" Spartacus' face turns somber, " would take care of Nasir and Duro if anything happened to you."

“Duro has Auctus now. Nasir,” Agron swallows thickly, “Just. Don't let him go back to how it was before, okay?”

“You're not dead yet, brother,” Spartacus gently cups Agron's shoulder, “You have a lot of years left in you to take care of him.”

“You know that's not true,” Agron shrugs, regretting it immediately as his ribs creak in pain. 

“I've known you for a long time, Agron. You don't just let things go without a fight.” Spartacus smiles in that way where it seems only he knows things. Agron is just about to retort when he's cut of. 

They're interrupted by shouting outside of the hospital room, voices raised in anger, before the door suddenly bursts open revealing Nasir flanked by two very angry looking nurses. One has a hold of his arm while the other clutches a clipboard, mouth twisted in a scowl.

"Sir, you can't be in here. You're not family," the nurse repeats, but it's like the words have fallen on deaf ears the moment Nasir sees Agron. 

He looks tiny flanked by the large nurses, eyes wide and desperate. His scarf is askew, half tangled in the zipper of his leather jacket and half in his smooth hair and he has a sizeable tear in the knee of his black skinny jeans. Agron swears though, even half dazed from lack of oxygen and probably pain meds, that Nasir has never looked more beautiful. 

"Fuck," Nasir gasps, hands automatically outreaching as he draws closer to the bed, hesitating to touch Agron's face. 

"Hey gorgeous," Agron grins and though it's a little groggy, it's all dimples. 

“Hey,” Nasir feels his lungs expand but it still feels like it's not breathing. Seeing that beautiful smile, after thinking he's never going to see it again, catches everything right in Nasir's chest. 

“Come here,” Agron beckons him closer, gently guiding Nasir's fingers to his cheek, "You're the best thing I've seen all day."

"Shut up," Nasir half giggles, half sobs, "You can't hit on me while you're hurt. I was so fucking worried about you. "

“Just because I got a little smoke in my lungs doesn't mean I'm blind,” Agron rolls his eyes, “Besides, I haven't seen you in over two weeks, I deserve to get my fill of you.”

“Same,” Nasir murmurs, tracing his fingers along Agron's jaw. 

It hurts, how easy it is to go back to this – to being in love with each other. All Agron wants to do is draw Nasir closer and press his tired and sore lips to Nasir's face, anywhere would do, as long as he could feel that this is the real Nasir – not one made of a dying man's wish.

“Naevia called me an hour ago but I was halfway through some stupid fucking dog portrait and I couldn't answer,” Nasir confesses, chewing on his bottom lip, “I didn't even get the message until twenty minutes ago and I rushed down. I'm so sorry. How bad is it? Did you break anything?”

“It's okay. Just a few bumps and bruises.” Agron smiles reassuringly, unable to tear his eyes away from Nasir's face. His mouth is a little too red to be natural, almost stained with something dark red. It makes Agron want to taste him, pain meds making his head swoon.

“You cracked two ribs. You're coming off extreme pain medication. You need to be resting.” A nurse pipes up, but it's like she isn't even there.

Nasir's fingers flutter over Agron's face, checking him out, hesitating to apply any pressure of get any closer than an arms length away. Tears gather in his eyes, sticking his long eyelashes together in thick black clumps. Every breath is ragged as he hesitates, very tips of his fingers resting on Agron's bottom lip.

“Baby,” Agron soothes again, pressing his fingers to Nasir's wrist, “come here.”

Nasir seems to collapse in on himself, moving the few steps to Agron's beside. He lovingly cups his face, gaze moving over Agron's face, his eyes, his lips, touching the skin gently. With a sigh, Nasir leans down slowly, almost terrified that he's going to break Agron, before pressing his lips against Agron's forehead. 

"It's okay. I'm okay, baby boy." Agron reassures, having to close his eyes from the feeling of loopiness, head beginning to clear a little. 

“He's family,” Spartacus murmurs to the nurses, standing to lead them out and let the two have some time together.

Being extremely careful, Nasir perches on the side of the hospital bed, letting his fingers drift along Agron's bare chest. There is a dark purpling bruise outlining his left pectoral, inching up along his collarbone to a vibrant yellow green. It connects with the dark black criss-cross pattern on Agron's back, half hidden by the gauze wrapped around him. 

He's bigger though, Nasir realizes it instantly. Agron has bulked up since the last time Nasir saw him, loosing some of his definition, but gaining thickness along his chest and arms. He's sure Agron's weight really could smother him now. 

“I thought I was going to rattle out of my skin on the way over here,” Nasir murmurs, “I was so fucking scared.”

“It's part of the job.” Agron replies, a sudden but slow realization taking over him. It's like he's waking from some sleepy, painless dream only to be hit by excruciating pain. This is all wrong. Nasir shouldn't' be here. He has no right to be here. 

The break up. The way Nasir had pushed him away, his scared eyes when Agron slammed his hand into the cabinet. It all comes rushing back in some terrible wave of pain and fury. Agron's stomach twists from it, narrowing his eyes up at Nasir. 

“Still, I can't imagine losing you this way.” Nasir's damp eyelashes flutter, taking in Agron's pale face.

“No, you'd rather get the choice, right? Choose when you can push me away and pull me back?” Agron doesn't know where he gets the strength to be cruel, but he does. 

“Agron, please, I was worried about you – so fucking worried. You barely got out alive,” Nasir flinches, pulling his hand slowly from Agron's, “I would have came even if we had just been friends.”

“But we weren't and we aren't.” Agron snips, pushing himself up to sit straighter, grimacing through the pain. “We've never been friends, Nasir. Friends don't do the types of things we did, feel the way we- well I did. And we're sure as hell not friends now.”

“Please,” Nasir gasps, more tears gathering in his eyes. “I came down here because I was scared and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I don't want to fight.”

“You're right. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you let all your friends fuck you.” Agron growls, hand suddenly reaching out to grip Nasir's wrist. “Play the innocent little sub to all the boys you bring home.”

“You know that's not true,” Nasir shakes his head, trying to pull away, “You know I only ever was like that with you.”

“I don't know that,” Agron spits through his teeth, “How the fuck am I supposed to believe you after you've lied to me for nine months? Am I just supposed to have faith in you? Look where that got me.”

“Agron,” Nasir whimpers, trying to pull away. Every word is like a knife hitting right on the nerve. “It's only ever been you.”

“Let me tell you what I think,” Agron leans forward so his nose is almost brushing Nasir's, ignoring the pain for just a moment, “I think you should get the fuck out of my hospital room. You didn't want to be with me, remember? You don't love me? So stop acting like you do.”

Agron shoves him away then, leaning heavily against the pillows. His whole chest aches from the smoke and fragmented bone, but the way Nasir turns and runs through the door, choking on sobs, hurts him more than anything else. 

 

\- - - 

Swinging his legs, Nasir perches on the edge of his tattoo table, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket. Mira has been sending him updates about Agron, letting Nasir know when he got discharged and that though he's still bruised, the doctors are pretty sure it will be a speedy recovery. Nasir wants to beg her to stop, he can't handle the pain of knowing, but the idea of not knowing is even worse. 

He hasn't bothered to change the background on his phone – Agron and Nasir curled up on Spartacus' couch, Nasir's face up turned to look at a grinning Agron. It's all he has left, pictures and half of Agron's clothes all over his bed. Nasir wonders if it will ever get easier, not feeling Agron's constant joy soaking into his skin. He doubts it. 

Absently, Nasir traces the healing script on his hip. It was a bad idea. Pietros told him so as he curled the letters along the bone, scraping the needle. He almost refused to do it after Nasir told him what the Arabic said. Wasn't it bad karma to get your ex-boyfriend's name tattooed on you? Nasir didn't know and didn't care, would wear it like a scab on his skin for the rest of his life – never healing fully. 

“Morning,” Auctus greets, opening the shop door. He sets a cup of coffee next to Nasir, lightly patting his shoulder. 

Auctus has been tip toeing around Nasir since the break up, always cautious about what he says. He's been over at Agron and Duro's apartment a lot lately, and some things he's seen shouldn't be brought up at the shop – especially the way that Agron has turned more towards violence than words. 

“Hey. This coffee for me?” Nasir asks, pulling his t-shirt back down to hide the tattoo. All of his clothes are just a little bit loose on him, result of living off of wine and peanut better crackers for three weeks. It's not a scary amount of weight or anything, just makes his hips more pronounced, his collarbones press tight against his skin. 

“Yep. I have a cheese danish for you too.” Auctus calls, tossing his messenger bag on his work station.

“Are you trying to butter up to me? Because if you want a raise, it really is up to Pietros. He does the books,” Nasir shrugs, taking a long drink of his coffee. The warm liquid spreads through his chest, filling him with warmth and relaxing his shoulders. 

“No,” Auctus shrugs, “you've just been going through some shit and I want to help take care of you.”

“I don't need a father,” Nasir sighs, hopping off his table to move into the piercing area. 

“No, but I figured you might need a friend.” Auctus smiles a little, placing the paper bag with with the danish next to Nasir. 

“You don't have to pretend to be nice to me. I know it upsets Duro when you go out of your way,” Nasir sighs, pulling the danish out and slowly taking a bite.

“You're my boss, but you were my friend first,” Auctus sits on his stool, pulling his own bagel from a bag. “I still remember when you got that dumb idea last year to dip dye your hair red and those awful plaid pants that matched.” 

Nasir can't help but laugh a little, remember what Pietros and Chadara call the “British Nasir Phase”. 

“We're family, a little crazy and probably not exactly fully functioning, but we try.”

“I know we do. I love you guys too.” Nasir nods, taking another nibble at his danish. His stomach twists, unable to really digest the sweetness, but he wants it anyways – wants something normal. 

“It's why I'm not going to treat you any different through this.”

“Auctus-” Nasir begins but stops when Auctus shakes his head. 

“Look, this whole thing really fucking sucks, but I'm not blaming you. I know what I saw,” Auctus keeps his gaze firmly on Nasir's face.

“Know what you saw?” Nasir flinches, reaching for his throat. His necklace isn't there though – the comfort of Agron isn't there. He didn't expect some random find at the flea to mean this much, but it does.

“Whatever Caesar said to you or made you do, I know that's why you broke up with Agron,” Auctus says, placing a hand slowly on Nasir's, “I'm not going to tell Agron or Duro. I just want you to know that I'm here. I want to help you.”

“I-” Nasir lightly grips Auctus' hand, danish forgotten, “Everyone thinks that I'm just this lying whore now.”

“No,” Auctus shakes his head, but he knows it's true. He's heard Agron snap out the words almost verbatim.

“They do. I've listened to Saxa's voicemails.” Nasir rubs at his nose, “I would be with him right now if I could. I would have never - I know you can't possibly understand.”

“You're in love with him, Nasir, of course I understand. You'd do anything for him,” Auctus pulls Nasir against his side, hugging him into his bulk, “Just tell me you're hurting him and yourself for a good reason?”

“I am. I promise,” Nasir leans his head to the side gently, finding comfort in the other man's warmth.

“You want to have a cigarette break with me?” Auctus lets go to stand up, moving towards his bag. 

“Yeah. Let's go outside though.”

Nasir's hand flutters to his throat one more time, feeling just cold skin and bones, before he forces himself to take his hand away. 

Auctus opens the flap on his bag just as the bell over the door rings, alerting them both to a customer. Only, it's not. Duro stands there, blood crusted under his nose. He's disheveled, coat open and t-shirt wrinkled with one pocket of his jeans sticking out. Auctus is just about to rush towards him, instantly worried, but Duro dodges him, coming to crowd up into Nasir's space. 

“You fucking little bitch,” Duro shouts, reaching out to grip the front of Nasir's hoodie. 

The smaller man back peddles, falling from his perch and knocking the coffee onto the floor. 

“Duro no!” Auctus shouts, coming around the corner of his piercing table. He wraps his arm roughly around Duro's shoulders, trying to tug his boyfriend back. 

“Fuck! What is wrong with you?” Nasir shouts, trying to dig his fingernails into the back of Duro's hands. He's never really noticed how big Duro actually is, only a tad smaller than Agron. 

“You had to ruin everything didn't you? You had to just show up at the hospital, act like you were supposed to be with him. He was doing better and you had to come around. Like you fucking matter anymore,” Duro hisses, allowing Auctus to pull him towards the door. 

“Babe, what the fuck is going on?” Auctus holds Duro back against the waiting couch, directing his face towards Auctus and away from glaring at Nasir. 

“He punched me,” Duro snaps, holding the side of his hand to his nose.

“Who punched you?” Auctus looks over his shoulder. Nasir hovers between the gap in the curtains separating the front from the back, staring with wide eyes. 

“Agron! Agron fucking sucker punched me because I threw out that stupid picture of you two at the Met,” Duro shouts over Auctus' shoulder, “He doesn't need to see it every day on the fucking fridge.”

“Duro, you upset him. This isn't Nasir's fault,” Auctus says slowly, trying to press a tissue to Duro's nose only to have his hand batted away. 

“It is his fault. I tried to fucking warn him when he first met you, but he didn't listen. Now everything is all fucked up and look who caused it.” Duro spits out the words and Nasir curls deeper and deeper into himself. 

“I'm sorry. This was a mistake,” Nasir whispers, reaching blindly for his keys on the main counter. 

“No, Nasir, stay. It's your shop. Duro, you need to leave.” Auctus says firmly, releasing Duro's arm. 

“No. This was a mistake. Just-” Nasir stumbles across the room, fumbling his way through opening the door, “I'll call Pietros later.”

Nasir moves through the city without really knowing what or where he's going. He could go back to the apartment, but what was is the point? He's out of wine. He doesn't want to lay out amongst Agron's scent, his memory. He's tired of feeling so miserable, hanging onto fragments and broken things. 

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Nasir pushes in a number before holding it to his ear, grimacing as he turns a corner. He has to shut his eyes when he hears the familiar voice greeting him. 

“Hey Ilithyia, long time, I know. Listen, you got any work at Ludus for me? I need a break from tattooing and I figured I could come dance for you.”

 

\- - - 

 

Agron paces in front of Nasir's building for a good fifteen minutes before he finally gets the gumption to go inside. He keeps hearing Saxa's thick voice shouting at him in his kitchen, demanding he buck up and go get his shit from Nasir's apartment. Put an end to all of it. Let him go and move on. It's been nearly a month now, it's time that Agron face the facts and realize he's never going to have Nasir the way he wants him. 

Jiggling the lock, Agron pushes Nasir's door open. He should be at work, so Agron figures it'll be easier to just go in and get out as soon as possible. Pulling the plastic bag out of his jacket pocket, Agron starts shoving things into it. The little flask of Muller-Thurgau wine they bought for their ten month anniversary - still empty. A small stack of Agron's dvds by the television. He leaves the picture of him and Nasir at the Brooklyn Bridge alone though, but takes his magnet off the fridge. 

He's dreading it, opening Nasir's bedroom door, walking in on something so familiar but no longer welcoming. He has to do it though. His favorite t-shirt is in there, the gray one with the electric blue lightening and Metallica logo. His sneakers are in there too, and his favorite leather jacket. He has to take them back, it's part of breaking up, right?

Taking a deep breath, Agron twists the nob and steps in. He's expecting a lot of things, a horrible mess of paint and wine bottles or even immaculate with all of Agron's things to piled in the corner. Agron doesn't even notice the room though, can't, with the sight that greets him.

It is mostly dark, lit by the dying afternoon sun hidden behind Nasir's red curtains. Sprawled on his back with one hand in his hair, Nasir moves the other between his spread legs, knees up and out. He's wearing one of Agron's gray button ups, completely undone and rolled up in the sleeves, hair spread around him in thick curls. And how could Agron forget about that dildo? The plaster mold one that Nasir had begged for, promised to only use it when Agron was away. It's pressed in deep, black silicone disappearing into Nasir's hole with a sheen of lube. 

Nasir doesn't hear him come in, just gives another loud moan, crying out Agron's name as he digs it in further, looking for that spot, that perfect little bundle of nerves that can make him come undone. He can't find it though, not without Agron's expert guiding hand. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it's Agron's cock inside him, his hands tight in Nasir's hair. 

It's all too much, watching the light glint on Nasir's wet skin, sweat gleaming on his belly button ring. His dusty nipples hard even in the cold air, body so damp everywhere from his sweaty hair to his leaking cock. Agron wants to reach out and taste, take his skin between his teeth and bite Nasir, taste his need and blood. Wants to punish him for causing Agron so much pain but praise him for being his perfect little cockslut. 

_"Agron, oh fuck,"_ Nasir whines, grinding down on the plastic, heels digging in to the mattress. 

Agron slowly shuts the door with a loud click, staring down his nose at Nasir. He hears it instantly, pausing. Huge whiskey eyes widen, pushing himself up on his elbows. He doesn't remove the dildo though, just stares up at Agron with a gaping mouth, a bead of sweat slowly sliding down his temple to his jaw. 

Keeping silent, Agron slowly walks towards the end of the bed, dropping his jacket onto the floor. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he fucking needs this. He's missed Nasir's tight little body under him, feeling him pant and beg and whine against Agron's ear. 

Nasir watches him with fawn eyes, fingers twitching beside his hips. He doesn't reach for the dildo though, stays perfectly still as Agron slowly peels his t-shirt off and kicks off his shoes. Placing a knee between Nasir's legs, Agron reaches for the black silicone, pulling it from within Nasir until just the tip rests inside, before guiding it back in, nailing Nasir's prostate hard on the very first try. 

"Nghh, oh fuck," Nasir tilts his head back, moaning thick and deep up at the ceiling. 

"Shush," Agron murmurs, leaning down to bite at Nasir's left nipple as he begins a rough pace with the dildo, slamming it into Nasir's prostate only to yank it away a moment later. 

It's tiny sunbursts of pain and pleasure, arching Nasir's back and forcing him down and onto the mattress again. It's so much better now that Agron is here, scent heady and thick right up against Nasir's nose when he buries it in Agron's hair. Agron's gained weight, Nasir is sure of it now, body thick and warm against him, easier to grasp and tug. Probably bulking up, gaining mass so he can trim it away later, force definition of muscles and lines.

Nasir lifts his legs, points his toes when he wraps them around Agron's waist. He caresses up Agron's spine, moaning into his ear. It's so fucking good when both of them are being dirty like this, Agron's deep voice growling into Nasir's hair as he twists the dildo, shoving it nearly with all his might. Nasir rocks with him though, keeping his legs up and out. With light little pecks, Nasir bites at Agron's ear, moaning into it when he feels Agron's hard length against him. 

Agron tires of the dildo quickly. It's not as satisfactory as having his fingers buried inside Nasir, not being able to feel the soft, slick walls of him, the tiny jumps and clenches when nerve endings fire behind Nasir's eyes. He tosses the plastic to the side as he flips Nasir onto his stomach, twisting and twisting the shirt until it's tight around his wrists and then Agron brings them up over Nasir's head, pinning him down. 

Nasir is so fucking good though, pressing his knees to the bed and arching his ass back and up. He's basically begging for it, glancing over his shoulder. He can feel Agron's scalding mouth biting into his back, pinned to the bed like this, and tongue slipping towards his crack. 

"No please," Nasir whines, knowing he won't be able to stand it if Agron eats him out, " want you in me."

"You'll get what I give you,・Agron growls out, slapping Nasir's ass roughly. 

"Yes Daddy," Nasir nods, closing his eyes as he drops his head again. It's almost enough to make Agron pause, stomach twisting at the name. He won't be dissuaded from this though, landing another sharp slap onto Nasir's backside.

He likes the sound of it and the sound Nasir makes in reply enough to do it again, tilting Nasir's back up so he can reach the soft skin of Nasir's ass better. He hits the globes with wide spread fingers, watching it pinken and then redden the skin, forcing loud cries from Nasir who wiggles back for more. Agron gives it to him, noticing the way Nasir's little pink hole clenches every time pain shoots through them, opening back up as if begging for more. 

Not even bothering to slick up his cock, Agron suddenly pushes forward, dragging it slowly through the mess of lube and sweat between Nasir's cheeks. He makes sure to snag the tip on his hole, just a tease for Nasir to beg for, whining high and needy every time Agron fails to push in. He wants it to be torture, to remind Nasir that he's never going to have anything better than this. Agron can pluck each and every one of Nasir's triggers, make him come from just breathing down a phone line. They know each other, every intimate detail, above and beyond anything he's going to get from somewhere else. 

"Put it in me, Daddy, please," Nasir moans, biting at the shirt that holds his wrists together. 

"Shut up," Agron grits out, can't get his mind out from around that fucking name. 

Fingertips digging into Nasir's hips, Agron lines up and slides in, all one tortuously quick line that jabs directly into Nasir's prostate and sends sparks of pleasure up Nasir's spine. Agron has to pause when he's inside though, ball deeps and mouth hanging open. Fucking christ. It's just tight heat enveloping his cock, squeezing on it tighter, and it doesn't even make sense because Nasir was just stretched around an exact replica dildo of his cock and yet he's so fucking tight on the real flesh. 

Nasir bites into the fabric, smothering himself in Agron's scent and drooling all over the shirt. His mind is blissfully quiet, blanking out and only focusing on the huge cock burying itself all the way through Nasir. It tickles along his lungs, pounding him into the mattress and knocking the wind from him. He has dreamed about this, thought about it so fucking much since they broke up, what it feels like to have Agron's huge bulk completely suffocating him. 

Burying his face in between Nasir's sharp shoulder blades, Agron grinds his cock in harder, slamming his hips into Nasir's ass. He's lost weight, Agron notices it instantly, being able to dig his fingers into Nasir's ribs, feel his spine in tiny little knobs all the way up his back. It makes Agron want to sprawl out on top of him, press his weight down into all the sharp corners of Nasir's body. 

Agron presses a palm into the center of Nasir's body, keeping him flat on the mattress as he raises up, using the springs to dig his knees in further, thrust Nasir's tiny body up the bed. He knows Nasir is leaking, can see it spreading along Nasir's sides, seeping into the fabric. Agron can smell the orgasm hinting just at the base of his spine, doubling his efforts to jab his cock directly into Nasir's prostate. 

"Fuck," Nasir whispers, moving his head to the side, sobbing into the tense air, "Ohh, fuck please. Please."

Growling, Agron loves the sound of Nasir's broken pleas. It drives him further, pressing in to grind against Nasir, biting harshly into the tendon along Nasir's neck to shoulder. He knows it's Nasir's weak point, the little trigger that sets Nasir off. 

He comes with a scream, broken cries tumbling from his throat as Nasir nearly rips the shirt in half form his tugging on it. He needs to feel Agron's skin, touch his thighs, trace his jaw with just the brushes of his fingertips. He's so fucking wet, sticking his cock to the sheets and sliding along his thighs. 

It doesn't slow Agron, though he makes sure to drag his fingers along Nasir's hips, bringing his come stained fingers up to taste. He hides it well, trying to act like this isn't killing him. Hearing every note, taste every drop of sweat, how it doesn't bring him right back to how they used to be. He needs this so much though, selfishly wanting to ruin Nasir for every other man who even looks at him. 

"Say it," Agron growls into Nasir's ear, forgetting for just a moment that he shouldn't be here. 

"Ah-Agron," Nasir whimpers, head turned towards the side. Agron won't kiss him though, can't, instead he bites at Nasir's jaw, tugging. 

"Say it. Say what you are," Agron hisses, nipping sharply at Nasir's bottom lip. 

"I'm yours. Your baby boy," Nasir cries, eyes squoze shut, "Your little cumslut. Your bitch to fuck as much as you want."

It's the last line, the permission to take and claim Nasir as his own. The desire for Nasir to be taken. It's so fucking perfect. Like a burning glaze, Agron erupts inside of Nasir's body, filling him over and over with every pulse. It leaks out and trails Nasir's thighs, his balls soaking wet from both of their seeds mixing. Nasir moans over and over until his voice is raw. Agron strokes his throat, biting into Nasir's mouth with more teeth than lips. It's a claiming mark, but it's not a kiss. 

Finally, it's over, and Agron's body stills for just a moment, suspended over Nasir's back like a bow string. It's so fucking hot in the room, sweat dripping down Agron's chest and onto Nasir's back. It's slick, sliding skin against one another, and the taste of Nasir's seed lingers right up against Agron's tonsils, over powering and so fucking sweet. The whole room smells like sex, air thick with it, and Agron inhales deeply. 

The haze, the highest fucking pleasure that Agron's ever been addicted to, clears slowly as Nasir's fingers uncurl from the shirt. He inches them across the bed to rest against Agron's, long dark fingertips just brushing lightly against Agron's palms. Digging his knees into the mattress, Nasir arches up just a little, enough for Agron to slide into the tight and dripping heat another inch. It fires off sparks all over Agron's back, curling his toes back up. Such a perfect fit, Nasir's ass. 

Suddenly, almost like a shot fired, Agron begins to realize what they've done. He wasn't supposed to see this, and he definitely wasn't suppose to give in. It's just so fucking hard when Nasir begs in that voice, eyes scalding heat. He had begged for Agron and Agron had given what they both wanted, gave in like it wasn't even a fucking question. Nasir's whole body is a siren song that Agron always succumbs to. 

He doesn't know what to do. He has no idea. Usually, he would collapse upon Nasir, smother him in kisses and quiet praise. But he can't, not now not ever. It's over and Agron realizes it with a sharp stab right through his gut. What have they done?

Then Nasir turns his head, and looks over his shoulder with those big brown eyes. They're watering but loving, mouth puckered in a perfect little pout, begging for a kiss. Agron wants to. He wants to lean down, give in and love on Nasir, tell him how much he loves him, but he can't. Agron can't and he won't because Nasir already told him he didn't want him to. 

Pulling out, Agron blindly reaches for his pants, tugging them up his legs and buckling them. He finds his shirt over by the door, layed next to his jacket. The whole time he avoids looking at Nasir, knowing that what he's going to see isn't going to help him, if anything, it's going to set him back five paces. With one heartbroken look from Nasir, Agron would be crawling back in that bed and kissing him silent. 

"Agron," Nasir starts, voice a broken little sob, and Agron can see him sitting up out of the corner of his eye. His own big button up hanging loosely around Nasir's slim shoulders. 

"Thanks for the fuck," Agron grits out when he yanks on his jacket, not bothering to tie his shoes. Any longer in the room and he's going to suffocate. 

He lingers for just a second at the front door, considering dropping his keys on the side board. He won't need them again. Yet, something stops him. It's a picture from Halloween, pinned to the bulletin board among the bills and notes. It's from before the fight and the drinking, Nasir pressed to Agron framed by both Mira and Spartacus. They look happy, and the light glittering around Nasir's eyes reflects something more as he grins for the camera.

Agron wants to believe that it was love. Maybe it was. Maybe it is. Still, he can't linger on it. 

Pocketing his keys, something dark and twisted settles over Agron as he yanks the photo from the board, crumpling it in his big fist and tossing it onto the floor. Nasir doesn't need it anymore. He made that choice.

**Author's Note:**

> I have made two fanmixes for this whole series:
> 
>  
> 
> [love me - songs for love making](http://8tracks.com/venomedveins/love-me)  
> [touch me - songs for raunchy, dirty sex](http://8tracks.com/venomedveins/touch-me)


End file.
